


Red Tree

by StarberryCupcake



Series: Loved, in spite of one's self [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Courfeyrac and Enjolras being great friends, Courfeyrac being an awesome friend and giving great advice like the fantastic Center he is, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, and blowjob, arguing and making up, emotional development and getting to understand one another and themselves, handjob, if you can call this smut but I guess it is, sexy times involving paint, to be more specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarberryCupcake/pseuds/StarberryCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Enjolras was left alone in Grantaire’s room and the first things he noticed were those missing in it. The last time he had been in Grantaire’s apartment, his bedroom, which was also used as his studio, had been decorated with five canvases and various sketches of the leader. At first, being around those images had made him feel intimidated, but he had come to terms with being Grantaire’s muse, as he called him, and just like Jehan’s quotes made Courfeyrac feel loved, Enjolras felt loved when he saw Grantaire using his art to depict how he saw him. Seeing all that gone was a blow that Enjolras wasn't prepared to face and he felt guilty for it, because he believed it to be his fault and feared the emptiness it brought him." </p><p>Enjolras, Grantaire, a fight, an understanding, art and an intimate moment, both physically and emotionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing something else but I had some ideas that worked for this series, so I tried to explore them. There's sex involved and, even if it's not as meticulously described as it could be, I still tag it as 'Explicit' because it's not implied. If you think I missed the mark, you're welcome to let me know. As always, this story chronologically follows the others of this series but, with the exception of few unimportant mentions, you can read it independently. I own nothing but the arguable rendition of these awesome characters.

 

_"Suddenly there it is right in front of you, bight and vivid, quietly waiting."_

                                                                                                                **- _The Red Tree_ , Shaun Tan**

 

“Was it today?” Enjolras was barely entering Grantaire’s apartment when he sensed the tension emanating from his boyfriend.

The past two weeks had been extremely stressful for Enjolras. He was getting through his finals while trying to manage Professor Lamarque’s former classes, all while organizing a protest in response to the cuts in scholarship money that had left over 200 students, Feuilly among them, without any possibility to continue their studies. Enjolras had sacrificed his own exam preparations in order to help those in need, and he knew that Grantaire had a Live Art performance that week, he had thought about it, his friends had reminded him of it, it just slipped his mind last minute. In his haze to arrive at University in time, he had forgotten his phone at home and he supposed then that his friends had messaged him. But it was understandable, wasn’t it? Those had been a terrible couple of weeks…

“You know, Enjolras, I get that you have a lot of things on your mind, I really do…” Grantaire stood up and looked at him with sadness and anger, mixed together with a touch of disappointment that Enjolras wasn’t used to receive from the man “it’s just that…I really wanted to share this with you. And I know you’re busy but _everyone_ was there except from you…my _fucking_ boyfriend”

“Grantaire, I’m sorry…”

“No, you’re not.” Grantaire’s voice was hard and cold, more severe than Enjolras had heard it before, and he could sense that the fight about to take place was going to be bad.

It was like an accident waiting to happen, like watching two trains about to crash and not being able to do anything to stop it. Grantaire’s attitude was getting to Enjolras, stressed and exhausted as he was.

“You’re not sorry, not really. And I’m tired of hearing shallow apologies from you, like if I was a child you have to convince so he stops complaining until the next time he rants. I’m not a fucking child, Enjolras, and neither are you.”

“If you won’t let me apologize, then what do you want from me?” Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, as he always did when he was exasperated.

“Well, that’s the thing, Enjolras, this is a relationship, it’s not what I want but what _we_ want and what you want to give me.” Grantaire was starting to raise his voice while walking back and forth “If it doesn’t come naturally to you to remember a thing I asked you a million years ago if you’d share with me, then I don’t know what we’re doing here.”

“Things changed, Grantaire!” Enjolras was losing his temper, and fast “Things happened between the moment you asked me to go and today!”

“I know things happened! I know scholarships were taken away from people and Lamarque’s classes are in danger and you have finals! But guess what? Feuilly is among those people whose scholarships were terminated, Combeferre is a teacher assistant in some of Lamarque’s classes as you are and most of our friends had finals but they were still there today! And _none_ of them is my fucking boyfriend!”

Enjolras was left speechless. His first instinct was to defend his choices, it was a reflex he had developed from a lifetime of fighting people who disapproved of his every move. So, stubborn as you may call him, his first approach to a situation like this was finding grounds to defend his position and expose them one by one. Justify himself, explain his reasons, stand by his choices. This time, though, he was at a loss.

“You know, Enjolras, for someone who sacrifices so much for _‘the people’_ ” he pronounced the last part with every ounce of sarcasm he could muster “I wouldn’t have taken you for someone so _selfish_ ”

And that did it. Enjolras, who fought for people he didn’t even know; Enjolras, who would give his life for a better world; Enjolras, who had given up his inheritance and his father’s legacy to follow his ideals of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity…he had never been called selfish before. Not by someone he loved so much. And it hurt. Not just because of what it meant but because he realized something he had been fearing for a long time: that maybe the Enjolras that Grantaire had fallen in love with, the one he had dreamed about for years before they got together, was not the real Enjolras but an illusion, an idealization of a person that did not really exist. The Enjolras that Grantaire kept telling him that he was, underneath all those layers of ideals and beliefs, the human being behind the red flag, was not what Grantaire expected him to be. And Enjolras, the real Enjolras, could not compete with that… _god_.

“If you can’t say anything for yourself, just leave.” Grantaire said, not looking at him anymore “I don’t want meaningless apologies and promises that you can’t keep”

So, he left. Without looking back, without muttering a single word of goodbye, Enjolras left. He walked, each step faster and faster until he was running to his own apartment, running also from his feelings, from his fears, from _everything_ and just focusing on his responsibilities. Everything was easier back when that was all he had. And, maybe, it was time to go return to that life.

* * *

 

Two weeks and three days. That was how long it had been since the last time that Enjolras had seen Grantaire. Not that he was counting. Between his finals, protests, emergency meetings and the end of classes, he had successfully avoided the matter until then. Combeferre and Joly would disagree on the use of the term ‘successfully’, but at least he hadn’t passed out that time around. It had happened before.

Grantaire hadn’t been in the Musain either, or at least not on the few times that Enjolras had been able to go there in the aforementioned two weeks (and three days). But they were both there on that particular day, which should have made Enjolras at least a bit hopeful, if it hadn’t been for the sight before him. Grantaire was talking with a man on a table far from the group, smiling, occasionally laughing and sketching. Not just sketching, Grantaire was drawing _the guy_. Enjolras’s head was drowning in thoughts that went from _‘I miss him looking at me like that’_ and _‘was it so easy for him to move on?’_ to the dreadful _‘why should he move on, though? Are we through?’_

“He said he needed a new model” Courfeyrac, who seemed to have the ability to smell problems of the heart, materialized and sat beside Enjolras in a heartbeat, like summoned by the scent of excessive pining.

“I see” Enjolras’s gaze couldn’t leave Grantaire’s back, arching to lean on the table, stretching occasionally to flex his muscles, bending forward to reach the guy and reposition him.

The man was very different from Enjolras. He had a toned body, not as impressive as Bahorel’s, but quite bulky; he had olive skin, smooth and visible through his v-neck and short sleeves. His hair was short and dark brown, with a fringe that partly covered his dark eyes. He had an easy smile and a musical laughter. Enjolras was averse to making quick judgments at first sight, but he could certainly say he didn’t like this man one bit. His opinion might have been biased, though, by the fact that Grantaire was laughing too and smiling back to this individual.

“He said that his current model was not going to be of any use this time around…” Courfeyrac stopped when he saw Enjolras flinch “Oh my god Enjolras, I didn’t…I didn’t realize…I’m sorry”

“It’s ok, Courfeyrac, it’s not your fault” _‘I thought it wasn’t entirely mine either but I’m reconsidering everything now’_ he added in his head.

“Look, why don’t you talk to him?” Courfeyrac’s hand clasped Enjolras’s shoulder tenderly “I’m sure there’s a lot you haven’t told him and I know from personal experience that talking does wonders” he glanced Jehan’s way and the poet smiled brightly at him.

“I can’t-…” Enjolras sighed “Courfeyrac, I can’t discuss this with you”

The man let go of Enjolras’s shoulder and looked at him severely.

“Why the hell not?” he raised his voice, unknowingly “I know I’m not _Combeferre_ but I’m better at advice that you give me credit for!”

“I know” Enjolras turned to stare at his friend, his countenance determined “I know you’re good at advice, Courfeyrac, it’s just that you make it seem so easy…”

“What? Make seem _what_ easy?” he sat closer to Enjolras, putting his hand back on his shoulder and going from defensive to worried in the blink of an eye and if Enjolras hadn’t been so down in the dumps, he would have smiled at that.

“ _This_ ” he gestured towards the man’s hand, atop Enjolras’s shoulder, and encircled the small space between them “You’re demonstrative, you’re naturally loving and caring and emphatic, and I can’t properly say how I feel, even less _show_ it”

“Is that the problem? That you’re not demonstrative enough?” Courfeyrac cocked an eyebrow, seeing through Enjolras with the knowing expertise of someone who had been beside him since childhood.

“No, that’s just the reason why I can’t talk about _THE_ problem with Grantaire” Enjolras sighed.

“Ok, let’s go through this one step at a time” he said, patiently, and moved both his hands to his lap “what is _THE_ problem?”

Enjolras frowned, thinking that if only the answer to that question was as easily put to words as the question itself, he wouldn’t be in that predicament in the first place.

“I’m scared.” he simply said, and it was the first time that he let himself admit it “I was starting to believe that maybe Grantaire wasn’t so much in love with _me_ as he was with an idea he has of me, one he has been forming through the years he spent being secretly in love with me…”

“I wouldn’t say _secretly_ …” Courfeyrac added.

“…and the other day, I think I’ve confirmed it.” Enjolras continued, ignoring Courfeyrac’s remark “And, to top it off, I’m completely unable to open my heart and talk to him without preparing a freakin’ speech...”

“What’s wrong with a speech?” Courfeyrac sounded legitimately confused at Enjolras’s dismissal of using a speech as a way of romantic communication.

“It doesn’t sound sincere…Grantaire always wants me to be honest and…”

“No, wait, stop right there.” Courfeyrac made a gesture with his hands to stop Enjolras from completing that statement “Enjolras, your speeches are honest, sincere and most of the times even emotional.” he smiled fondly “That is how you communicate the most important things to you, you spend hours, days even, preparing some of them and others just come spontaneously to you but, regardless of the preparation, they are the way you use to say the things closest to your heart. Whether some people might consider that romantic or not is irrelevant, if it is how _you_ demonstrate that you care.”

Enjolras understood his friend’s point but couldn’t quite come to terms with the idea. He had tried premeditated speeches with Grantaire a few times, during their first dates, but was worried that somebody as straightforward as Grantaire was going to think him not sincere enough.

“Look, let me give you an example.” Courfeyrac repositioned, moving closer to his friend and looking at him in the eyes “The other day, before going to sleep, I told Jehan that I loved his smile. I told him in a very messy, spontaneous and fluffy way why I felt that his smile had a powerful effect to everyone around him and how it was one of my favorite things in the world. He just smiled at me and said nothing, as we fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, there was something written in my arm with purple Sharpie, it said _“The soul that can speak through the eyes can also kiss with a gaze”_. When he saw me looking at it he told me that it was a quote from Bécquer and that he had never fully understood it until he met me and saw my eyes, because they were among _his_ favorite things in the world.”

If that had been in a romantic movie, Enjolras would have gagged and thought that nobody in the world could be like that, that it was just an invention to lure helpless romantics into paying a ticket to a movie. But, knowing his two friends, he had no doubt that it was a true story, that they loved each other in such an honest way, and he couldn't help but smile.

“My point is” Courfeyrac, smiling tenderly at the memory, continued “that Jehan does that sometimes, when he feels that someone else’s words can make justice to something extremely important he has in mind. He doesn’t use his words or even his voice, he writes quotes and communicates through them his most inner feelings and beliefs. That doesn’t mean that he’s being less spontaneous or romantic than I am, just because they aren’t his words or he isn’t actually speaking, it just means that he chose one of his favorite ways of communicating to say something to me and it makes me feel loved. Your speeches are a part of who you are, Enjolras, even when planned and proof read and edited. The things you care for the most become subject of your speeches and, if this is the case, I don’t see why you cannot do it. If it makes you feel more comfortable, more in control, more _yourself_ …I think Grantaire will understand.”

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac with admiration. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t gone to him two weeks (and three days) before, because he would have probably avoided major pining. And, even if he wasn’t the most demonstrative person, Enjolras moved forward and hugged Courfeyrac tightly. It was an awkward, strange and a bit painful kind of hug, they both knew it, but Courfeyrac hugged back just as tightly.

“Don’t ever forget why you’re the center of this group, Courf.” Enjolras said, not letting go “ _Thank you._ ”

“Ok, stop this at once, you’re gonna make me cry and you know I can’t stop when I start sobbing.” he let go of the hug and messed Enjolras’s curls “Go on then, go home and prepare a speech, because the object of your affections has left the building”

Enjolras turned to find that Grantaire (and the guy) had already left and silently nodded to Courfeyrac, who bid him farewell with his specially-reserved-for-his-best-friends good luck butt slap.

“What was that all about?” Jehan said as Courfeyrac approached him and led him out of the Musain.

The poet, who was wearing a baggy grey t-shirt with the words “ _Dying is an art, like everything else_ ” written with black sans serif font, looked worried.

“I think Enjolras and Grantaire are about to make up! And probably make out too, if everything goes as I expect” he smiled mischievously.

“Oh, great! It was about time!” Jehan spoke as if there was something he knew and wasn't telling, but they let go of the subject as they were about to reach Jehan’s floral patterned Vespa.

The poet stopped walking and faced Courfeyrac.

“I have a surprise for you” he made a gesture to indicate Courfeyrac not to move and went to retrieve something from the handle of his motorcycle.

When he came back and offered it to Courfeyrac, the man couldn’t believe his eyes.

“I think it’s time to take our relationship one step further.” Jehan said, with a smile.

The poet was holding a motorcycle helmet, custom painted to imitate the face of Michelangelo, Courfeyrac’s favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Silly as it may seem, Courfeyrac’s passion of the comic book characters and every adaptation and reboot (well, not every single one, because some were inexcusable, but close enough) had driven him to buy themed pajamas, backpacks, cups and, to his friends’ amusement, even underwear. He looked at the helmet with a gleam in his eyes that matched the one he had sported that Christmas morning when his 6 year old self had found the same character’s action figure under the tree.

“Jean Prouvaire…” he breathed out, still staring at the helmet “You have just made me the happiest man in the world”

Jehan smiled, putting on his own Chinese porcelain imitation helmet (he had chosen it for its delicate design, the beautiful tiny skulls that decorated it and the irony of representing human fragility in the use of something that was meant to protect it). He kissed his boyfriend deeply before he had the chance to put on his own brand new helmet and they drove off, their accessories beautifully clashing with Jehan’s Vespa and its delicate floral pattern.

* * *

 

It took a couple of hours for Enjolras to finish planning what to say to Grantaire and how to do it. He had sat in front of his laptop and brainstormed, then organized his most important points and went over them once and again. When he felt confident, or as confident as he could ever be, he went straight to Grantaire’s apartment.

He could hear music inside and, probably for that reason, Grantaire wasn't able to hear him knocking or calling him. He then pushed the door slightly, to check if it was open, and indeed it was. Entering slowly, Enjolras kept calling out Grantaire’s name but the loud music was stronger the closer he got to the artist’s bedroom.

“Grantaire?” he asked, opening the bedroom door.

Enjolras froze in his place when he saw the same guy that was sharing a table with Grantaire in the café earlier, this time in his briefs and about to put his pants back on.

“Do you want something to eat?” Grantaire asked, exiting the bathroom fully clothed and covered in paint, drying his hands on a towel.

The second he noticed Enjolras’s presence, the artist froze in his spot, an action that looked more dramatic with the sudden end of the background music, that had chosen that very instant to come to a stop. 

“Enjolras” he said, surprised and with a drop of something that the leader of Les Amis hoped was longing “What are you doing here?” his tone changed suddenly, getting tainted with anger, like if he had just remembered that he wasn't talking to Enjolras.

“I…” the blond looked from Grantaire’s paint covered body to the guy, almost fully clothed then, and back to Grantaire “I wanted to talk…but you’re busy and I’m interrupting.” he couldn’t hide the pain in his voice as he said it.

“I am…oh… _OH_ ” Grantaire seemed to have noticed something in Enjolras’s statement “You actually thought I’d…” he sighed, exasperated, and turned to the unknown guy “I’ll see you to the door” he said to him and the guy just waved at Enjolras, with a smile and soft 'nice to meet you' that the blond barely heard, and followed the artist.

Enjolras was left alone in Grantaire’s room and the first things he noticed were those missing in it. The last time he had been in Grantaire’s apartment, his bedroom, which was also used as his studio, had been decorated with five canvasses and various sketches of the leader. At first, being around those images had made him feel intimidated, but he had come to terms with being Grantaire’s muse, as he called him, and just like Jehan’s quotes made Courfeyrac feel loved, Enjolras felt loved when he saw Grantaire using his art to depict how he saw him. Seeing all that gone was a blow that Enjolras wasn't prepared to face and he felt guilty for it, because he believed it to be his fault and feared the emptiness it brought him.  

“If you dare to think that I was sleeping with him…” Grantaire’s threatening voice was the first thing that reached Enjolras, as he re-entered his bedroom.

“No, I know you were painting him.” Enjolras still sounded hurt, and cursed himself for being unable to carry out the conversation as he had once planned.

“You…then why are you…you look so…” Grantaire’s anger gave way to confusion and Enjolras decided to take his pause as an opportunity to start saying everything he owed Grantaire to listen.

“I came here to talk to you about what happened between us. First, let me say that this may sound like a rehearsed speech, because it is, but that doesn't make it any less sincere and straight from the heart. A very wise friend gave me the advice to speak about my feelings for you as I talk about those things crucial to me, and this is how I do that.” He inhaled deeply and, thankfully, Grantaire didn't dare to interrupt or call him out as he had once feared “The last time we spoke, you told me that I was selfish. I thought a lot about it and I understand that I owe you an apology. There’s no excuse for having forgotten something that was important to you, because whenever you did something like that to me, before we were actually dating, when I asked something of you and you didn't come through, I resented you for it, so I’d be an asshole if I didn't understand my wrongdoing in what happened. This is all new for me, sharing my life with someone like this, and I know there are things I still have to work on and learn, this being among them.” Grantaire seemed about to say something, so Enjolras gestured for him to stop and let him finish, before he lost not only his train of thought but also his confidence “With that being said, you should know that it is not possible for me, at least not at this point, to choose whether activism or you are the most important thing in my life. I’m not aware whether that might change in the future or not, but right now, both are important to me and I can’t choose one. You are more important to me than I would have ever imagined and the past two weeks and three days have shown me that my life without you, now that I know what it was with you in it, is not the same. Still, if I had to risk that life for my beliefs, if I had to die fighting, I would do it in a heartbeat, even if I’d have to leave you behind, because living a full life with the guilt of knowing that I wasn't true to myself wouldn't be an option for me.” Enjolras’s voice didn't falter “This doesn't mean that I see what I did to you as excusable and it also doesn't mean that I will continue to disregard what’s important to you, because that was never my intention and I feel terrible for having done it in the first place, but it means that you can’t ask me to choose between you and what I do, because it would tear me apart.”

Enjolras, who had been standing as Grantaire was sitting on his bed, then moved to sit on the floor and look up at him, straight in the eyes, as he continued, his speech turning softer, more personal, more private.

“There is a subjacent problem that I have been keeping from you and, to some extent, to myself. I’m scared about us, Grantaire, because I feel that I’m constantly competing with an image that you have formed of me during all these years. I know that you see me for who I am, but if you were surprised to find me selfish, it is probably because you ignore some things about me that make me less of a golden god and more of a flawed human being. And I’m not talking about things that you see in me and respect, but things that you’d find irritating and upsetting and will probably disappoint you, because I can’t live up to an idealization.”

Grantaire snorted.

“For example? What would you call an irritating trait of yours?” he asked, disbelieving.

Enjolras breathed in and out before answering, trying to gather the strength to continue. It was scary, unveiling the things that made you feel guilty and flawed to the person that you wanted to impress the most.

“For example, when I came in and saw that guy and you here, you thought that I was hurt because I believed that you had slept with him. I told you that I knew you hadn't, and it was true. I knew that you were painting him, but that hurt in a particular way.” he tried to keep his eyes on Grantaire’s, even if it was hard and embarrassing, because that was how he conveyed his important speeches, how he tried to get his most important points across “Back in the Musain, Courfeyrac told me that you had decided to change your model because your usual one was of no use to you anymore. The thought alone hurt me deeply and, when I came here and saw it happen, it was more than I could bear. Then, you left with him and I realized that all the drawings and paintings of me had disappeared and I know now that I’m being clingy and needy, but it hurts. Whenever you mentioned how Cosette’s classical beauty or Jehan’s ethereal figure inspire you so much, I do feel a bit jealous. Not like this, because they are my friends and I couldn't ever let myself feel like that with them, but with a stranger…it was different. And it isn't about the painting in itself, it’s what comes with it, your appreciation, your attention, how you look at me…if you have been painting that ideal Enjolras that I cannot be, I suppose I’d have to understand.”

There was a moment of silence in which Grantaire’s startled expression never changed. He ran his fingers through his hair, making it messier than it already had been, and exhaled deeply. Enjolras just waited, scared but with the feeling of having lifted something extremely heavy from his chest.

“You do realize how ironic this situation is, right?” Grantaire finally said, to Enjolras's confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“The feelings you’re describing, how you crave my attention like that…it’s exactly how I've felt for the past years, since I've met you, and the reason why I was constantly seeking your attention with arguments and snarky remarks and shit” he smiled but there was some sadness tainting his countenance “I don’t know if it’s clingy or needy, but I know exactly how it feels…and also, I know how it feels to be competing with an idea” he sighed “Enjolras, I never intended you to feel that way, especially since that is how I feel as well, when I imagine all the people who are better suited than me to be your boyfriend.”

“R--” Enjolras tried to contradict the artist, but Grantaire didn’t let him.

“No, now is my turn to speak, you just had yours.” he simply said, and Enjolras accepted, reluctantly but with respect “I know how you feel about me, even if some days I have to fight very hard not to let that confidence slip away. Still, there are moments in which it falters and I find myself wondering why the hell you are with me in the first place. I was angry at you for not coming to my art show and I know I was entitled to be angry, but my first instinct after you left was to chase you out and apologize like a maniac because I am afraid of losing you, I’m scared that you will realize that there are many others more suitable for you than me and who would be less complicated to deal with. But, a very wise friend told me that I was right in getting angry and asking a bit more of you, and I can’t expect you to respect me if I don’t respect myself enough to recognize that. So, yes, you fucked up and yes, I was right to be angry but I wasn't right in calling you ‘selfish’ and I apologize for that.” Enjolras’s eyes opened wide and Grantaire took his hands in his “There's two things you need to know right now, Enjolras: one, that I would _never_ ask you to choose between your activism and me, because that is a part of who you are and I would never want to see you lose something you love so much, that makes you _you_. Second, the fact that you messed up that time doesn't make you selfish, I just said it because I knew it would hurt you and there’s a defense mechanism I've developed through a lifetime of getting shit thrown at me and that is to defend myself as hard as I can. I’m sorry and know that I’ll try to get better at it.”

“I understand.” Enjolras smiled “I do the same…I fight back with my words and stand by my choices without even thinking it through sometimes, and that’s what I tried to do that day, until you called me ‘selfish’ and made me really think about it.” Grantaire flinched at the use of the word “Let’s just say that we both screwed up, me more than anyone in this case, and we’ll both try to get better and actually talk about things, no matter how awkward and scary it may seem, before they get out of hand, we spend two weeks and three days away from each other and I start pining desperately and getting jealous of an unknown guy for getting all your artistic attention.”

Grantaire smiled in that way that Enjolras loved so much, when it was sincere, when it reached his eyes and made them gleam with joy.

“The reason why you were of no use to me for this art project, by the way, wasn't because of something personal. Even if I couldn't ask you to sit for me I could draw you from memory by now if I wanted, it wasn't that. It wasn't that you don’t inspire me either because _god_ , Enjolras, you’re my muse after all.” He let go of Enjolras’s hands and stood up, moving towards a canvas that was turned from their view “I just couldn't transform you into _this_.” he flipped the canvas and a very confusing (for Enjolras, at least) sight appeared before the blond “It’s supposed to be a 1 st phase Cubist portrait, I thought that using an unknown model would help me try to see him more objectively through different perspectives, especially if he had a body with many straight lines and defined shapes. Even if I wanted to do it with you, your body, your face, your hair, you just _flow_. I could paint you emulating the high Renaissance or sculpt you like Michelangelo’s David or set you in a Baroque style like Bernini would have sculpted you; I could paint your curves in a Rococo style, set them in a Neoclassical context or even see them in an Art Nouveau piece like if Mucha had drawn you; I could even see you as a mesmerizing beauty drawn by Audrey Kawasaki or a fairy tale knight sketched by Benjamin Lacombe…I can see you in art through the ages, art that would embrace your form of beauty and make it justice…but Analytic Cubism…that’s hard for me to see you as.”

Enjolras stared at Grantaire, dumbfounded by his speech and explanation. He could only guess that Grantaire had chronologically exemplified his inspirations, but he was almost sure that he had done just that. He looked at the artist, then at the confusing portrait before him, then at Grantaire again and they both started giggling, then laughing their hearts out. The situation was too ridiculous, just like they could be sometimes. They stopped laughing as gradually as they had begun and then, silence fell between them again.

“By the way, all your paintings are stored because I had to clean this place yesterday, if I wanted to lure an unknown model here to work and not give a lousy impression, so I moved them to clean without damaging them.” Grantaire added, somewhat shyly.

“I’m sorry for being so ridiculous about it…I know I sound vain, I just…” Enjolras, with a share of shyness of his own, blushed and averted the other man’s eyes.

“You like me to look at you…” Grantaire turned around, gathering a brush, a box with different colors and brands of paint and a palette “and I like looking at you and seeing you react to it…” he reached Enjolras, who was still sitting on the floor, and sat beside him “so I would very much like to paint you.”

Enjolras stared at him with surprise written all over his features and then looked around, unable to find more canvases in which to paint on.

“You don’t have any more canvases here…” he uttered, confused.

“No, what I mean is…” Grantaire said, with a deep voice “I would like to paint _you_ , _on_ you, like if you were my art and my canvas all in one.”

Enjolras let the idea sink in and had to admit that he was shamelessly turned on by that. His pink cheeks and glossy eyes spoke volumes to Grantaire, who smirked and started setting the elements on the floor.

“Take your clothes off…” Grantaire’s voice was more confident that he had sounded all day “If you’d like…” he added, with some hesitance.

Enjolras nodded and started losing his clothes one by one, until he was only in his boxers. He looked at Grantaire questioningly, with his fingers on the hem of his underwear, and the artist could only stare in awe and swallow the lump in his throat. That was all the answer Enjolras needed. With a smile on his face, he took his underwear off and lied down, completely naked, on Grantaire’s bedroom-studio floor.

The artist, having set up the colors of his choosing on his palette, took a moment to look at his living canvas and appreciate every inch of it.

“You wouldn't like to ruin that shirt, would you?” Enjolras asked, mischievously.

Grantaire then, unable to say no to a request like that, took off the garment and tossed it aside with a careless attitude that proved how little appreciation he really had for the shirt and how his action had other intentions behind them. He decided to keep his pants on, though, at least for the time being.

Then, leaning over Enjolras without touching him with anything but his brush, he started painting. The first color that he used was black, and he drew a line that went from Enjolras’s right thigh all the way up to his hips and started to curve slightly towards the man’s chest. More lines followed, all parting from that first one, and Enjolras could feel the caress of the brush and the coldness of the paint leaving black lines all over his chest, stomach and even below his belly button. He giggled a bit at that, it tickled slightly. Grantaire almost didn't notice, concentrated as he was not only in his art but in every inch of his living canvas, the way his body bended, felt and moved, memorizing every curve of Enjolras’s body again and again.

When Grantaire picked the red paint, Enjolras was starting to feel mesmerized by the way the other man looked at him. Red was being used in spots, traces that followed the lines, or at least that was what it felt like to Enjolras. Grantaire’s focus was intense, piercing, determined, and Enjolras realized that he rarely saw that on the man’s eyes, that confidence in his ability, that sight of a creation that was possible and that he could work towards. He loved Grantaire making choices, creating, _believing_ and he could feel the intensity of it being for him, with him, _beside him_. 

Grantaire added white and then black, in small amounts, and went from the upper part of the painting towards the lower section of it. The intense connection between them, Grantaire’s undivided attention and Enjolras’s thoughts, altogether with his gentle brush strokes getting lower, were too much for Enjolras. He felt himself getting hard and a soft whimper escaped his lips.

Grantaire then, for the first time since he had started painting, broke his concentration and noticed.

“Oh” he said, more a sigh than an answer.

“I’m sorry” Enjolras wasn't completely sure why he was apologizing; it wasn't something he could quite control with all the intensity he was immerse in.

“It’s ok… _fuck_ , it’s more than ok, just…” Grantaire groaned, and Enjolras noticed just then how the man’s jeans were tighter than they had been minutes before.

“Oh” it was Enjolras’s turn to say it, realizing that his eyes hadn't left Grantaire’s in the entire time so he had ignored the man’s building arousal that matched his own.

“I’d like to finish this before…you know…we finish somehow else?” Grantaire offered, smiling, and Enjolras couldn't help but laugh.

“Of course” he answered.

They continued in that manner, but it was more difficult than what they had expected. Enjolras got lost in Grantaire’s eyes, feeling his brush, gentle and determined, but never his hands, his _skin_ , and the lack of it felt painful. When Grantaire’s arm brushed his thigh, unintentionally, Enjolras moaned softly, and the artist almost dropped the palette.

Grantaire’s eyes, even if determined and focused, fought not to linger on certain parts of Enjolras that required attention but not from his brush. He didn’t want to rush his painting, he never did, but he hadn't expected the experience to be so… _intense_  for them both. Whenever Enjolras made a sound of want, cutting the silence and reminding Grantaire just how _alive_ his canvas was, the bulge in his pants tightened and the friction became insufferable.

Only occasional groans, whimpers and soft moans were heard on the apartment, getting louder the needier they became for each other’s touch and some kind of attention.

“Grantaire, _please..._ ” Enjolras didn't want to hurry him, he _really_ didn't, but he was clenching and unclenching his hands desperately, arms spread over his eyes, desire running wild inside him.

“Almost.” was all Grantaire could muster, the pain of his own restrained arousal hurrying him enough.

It wasn't much longer until Grantaire left his items aside and smiled with satisfaction.

“You want to see it?” he asked, breathing hard and incredibly turned on.

“Yes” Enjolras answered with a hoarse voice, using his arms to prop himself up and sit down, slowly.

Grantaire pulled his standing mirror forward and sat, with spread legs, behind his living canvas. Enjolras leaned on Grantaire’s chest and his amazement towards the painting on his body was noticeable through the mirror, so the artist could treasure every second of it.

Enjolras’s right side was traced by the black branches of a tree, curvy and elegant, holding an incredible amount of red leaves, with shadows and lights that made them look real. His chest showed branches that extended towards his left side, over his heart, and the whole shape of the tree worked with the curves of his body, as if it was born from within him.

“It’s beautiful” he whispered and, finally, felt Grantaire’s hand on his right thigh, where the tree’s roots began.

“I know” Grantaire answered, looking straight at Enjolras’s eyes in the mirror, and their gazes met.

The artist’s calloused fingers traced the tree along Enjolras’s thigh, smudging paint over him and his own hand, but instead of traveling upwards, like the tree, it was directed towards Enjolras’s neglected erection. The touch was soft at first but enough to make Enjolras moan louder than he had before, and Grantaire knew that they both weren't to last very long under those circumstances. The artist drew Enjolras towards his climax with reverence, providing the right amount of pressure, feeling his boyfriend’s reactions through his body, as his back was pressed against his naked chest, and seeing it on the reflection of the mirror before them. The sounds that came from Enjolras’s mouth as he was reaching his release were loud and intense, but the sight of his muse and canvas in ecstasy before him, his brows furrowed, his eyes closed, his cheeks and chest flushed, his hands grasping Grantaire’s legs at both sides of him, made the artist quicken his pace and soon feel his lover come in his hand, drops tainting the painting on him, as he laid over Grantaire’s chest for support. After the artist had driven Enjolras through his release and the man had regained his normal rhythm of breathing, or as normal as it was going to get right then, the blond turned slowly around and down towards the bulge in Grantaire’s pants.

The artist wasn't able to mutter a word or even suggest they moved to the bed, as Enjolras released him from the restraining zipper of his jeans and the confinement of his briefs.

“Just watch.” Enjolras said, with a quick glance behind him, and Grantaire understood that he meant the mirror and not at Enjolras himself.

And he was right to suggest it because _wow_. Grantaire felt as Enjolras’s lips softly touched him, his tongue traveled through his length and his mouth closed around him to suck mercilessly, to provide the urgent release he most clearly needed. Grantaire could feel it but he could also see it, from two different perspectives and how _wrong_ had he been at believing that Enjolras couldn't be a good model for Cubism when all his perspectives were so fascinating; he couldn't help but ask himself if the little bastard was thinking that when suggesting it or was just trying to make Grantaire come embarrassingly fast because that was precisely what was about to happen. Enjolras's motions became faster, his head bobbing and beautiful curls moving impossibly gracefully over Grantaire’s crotch on the mirror, moaning when the artist took hold of said curls and applied pressure, sending vibrations that were enough to drive Grantaire closer to his orgasm.

“Enj…I’m…” he muttered, and Enjolras approved with another moan, swallowing and driving Grantaire through his climax.

It was only much later, after they had rested, showered and eaten together, that Grantaire showed Enjolras the picture book that had inspired his creation.

“The red tree is hope; it’s a shade of light through all the darkness.” he explained, as Enjolras reached the final page of the book “It represents what keeps you moving forward and I think that, even in our darkest moments, you are a red tree to me.”

They slept together that night, clinging to each other tightly, after two weeks and three days of separation and with a book between them. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't get it, although I'm sure you did, Jehan was the wise friend that gave Grantaire some advice. I have stated before that smut is not my forte, but I felt this story needed it. I wanted it to be more about emotions that actual mechanics, because this is a series about feelings, after all, but at this point I just hope it isn't entirely disappointing lol As always, this is unbeta'ed and I know that my characterizations are absolutely debatable, I just hope they aren't OOC enough to make this frustrating. Comments on that are entirely welcome. 
> 
> The quote that Jehan writes on Courfeyrac is from Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer's Rima XX ("que el alma que hablar puede con los ojos, también puede besar con la mirada") and the quote on his t-shirt is from Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath. 
> 
> Jehan's [Vespa](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/400961173045885480/) and both [Jehan's](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/400961173045885550/) and [Courfeyrac's](http://www.airgraffix.com/collections/movie-tv-character-themed-helmets/products/michelangelo-tmnt) helmets exist in real life. 
> 
> The Red Tree is a gorgeous picture book by Shaun Tan, with fantastic illustrations that represent different sad and alienating feelings, and how you can find hope after going trough hardships. I can't make justice to it with a simple comment so, if you find it somewhere, check it out, especially if you're not feeling well and need something to lift up your spirits (I certainly needed that this week). 
> 
> I promise I can write things with less emotional development and more plot! I'm actually doing it right now, but sometimes we just have a couple of ideas we wanna try out and things like this fic happen. Thanks so much for reading and your patience, you're amazing people, let me tell you. Happy holidays and I apologize for not making this the Christmas-related fic it could have been!


End file.
